


The Music Was New Black Polished Chrome

by Merricat Kiernan (rosa_himmelblau)



Series: The Roadhouse Blues [42]
Category: Wiseguy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/Merricat%20Kiernan
Summary: Sonny's gone to Italy.
Series: The Roadhouse Blues [42]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1069713
Kudos: 1





	The Music Was New Black Polished Chrome

Vinnie was pissed off.

Sonny loved it. He could tell, just from the way Vinnie was sitting, the set of his shoulders; he didn't even need to see the look on his face. Vinnie was so pissed off, he was practically vibrating with it.

Sonny smiled. _Beautiful. Vinnie's back._ He stood there in the doorway, looking at him. Vinnie didn't look up from his book.

What really got Sonny was how good Vinnie looked. Freshly-shaven, his clothes unrumpled—both of those were things he could be pushed into doing. It was his bearing that was strikingly different. And when he finally shut the book and looked up, he had no trouble meeting Sonny's eyes, his own eyes were clear, he held his head up. There was attitude to him. He could be pissed off without that scary edge of hysteria; he wasn't going to snap, or cry.

Which was good, it was what Sonny wanted, but it didn't make any sense. If being with McPike fixed him up like this, what the hell had he come back for? Why didn't he stay where he was happy?

Sonny didn't know, and he wasn't going to wait around to ask. He'd left Vinnie in San Francisco to figure out what he was doing. He'd figured that maybe by the time he got home, Vinnie'd be gone again. Instead Vinnie had followed him to Palermo. It didn't make any sense.

Why hadn't McPike kept him? He'd wanted him bad enough. And it looked like whatever arrangement he had with Aiuppo wasn't going so well, since Aiuppo hadn't told him he'd got Vinnie back. **Aiuppo** wouldn't have just let Vince go. Sonny was sure of that.

"What're you doing here, anyway?" Sonny asked in spite of himself.

"Yeah, good to see you, too. You gonna come in, or are you gonna run away some more?"

"I was just doing some traveling." He hadn't been running, he just wanted to get away from Vinnie.

"Whatever you say. But you've ditched me twice now. Once more, I'm gonna get the hint. Are you coming in or not?"

Sonny closed the door and dropped his key into his pocket. "What're you doing here?"

"What did you think I'd do, sit and twiddle my thumbs, waiting for you to come back?"

"I thought you'd get the point and go back to **Frank**."

"No reason to."

"No reason—! You spent three years whining about how much you wanted to see **Frank,** you spend twenty minutes with him, and that's it?"

"It was a few hours altogether, but I see your point. I just needed him to know I'm all right."

"For that you couldn't have dropped a postcard?"

"Sonny, you don't know Frank."

"Thank God for small favors."

"He required convincing. Frank wasn't going to quit looking for me until he knew I was dead or safe. I don't know how to make you understand that."

"I understand," Sonny said. "I saw the guy's face when you got off the elevator."

"So you get it. I couldn't just go blithely on with my life, knowing he was eating his heart out, not to mention putting himself in danger for no reason. A postcard wouldn't have done it."

"Yeah, OK." Sonny could go the rest of his life without talking about Frank McPike anymore, except it made him nervous, Vinnie spending all that time talking to him, and him knowing Sonny was still alive. "I'm surprised you didn't stay longer," Sonny said. "You and McPike must've had a lot of catching up to do, a lot to talk about."

"You're outta your mind, you know that? Yeah, I love Frank—why shouldn't I? We've been through a lot together, and he stood by me every step of the way, he backed me even when he knew I was wrong. And I am not gonna pretend he doesn't matter to me just because you're a crazy person! If things had been different, I could'a had a very different life. Right now I could be finished with a successful undercover career and have moved on to something else, had a wife, kids—and good friends, like Frank. Except what happened was, I got you as my first case, and you got into my blood. Maybe I'd'a got over you if I hadn't thought you were dead, if I'd ever had a chance to tell you I was sorry for hurting you. I'm not sorry for the investigation, but I'm very sorry I hurt you. And Sonny, Frank and me were not talking about you. In fact, when Frank asked what your part was in all this, I lied to him. I told him I didn't know what he was talking about because I wasn't going to betray you."

Sonny nodded, though he wasn't sure he believed Vinnie. "So, what did you talk about?"

"My life, mostly, and what I was going to do with the rest of it. Why are you standing over there on the other side of the room?"

Sonny went out onto the balcony. It didn't surprise him that that's where Vinnie would choose to sit; he always sat on the balcony, if they had one. He didn't seem to like being cooped up.

"What'm I doing here?" Vinnie asked, and oh, yeah, was he ever pissed off. "I heard you had a nice balcony, so I came here to read a fucking John Grisham novel! What do you **think** I'm doing here? I'm here because you're here!"

"Took you over two weeks," Sonny said, pushing him a little. He liked this Vinnie, pissed off and not scared to show it. "That 'could'a found you in an hour' deal's only good in the continental US, huh?"

"I didn't have a fucking passport!" Vinnie yelled at him. "Which you knew perfectly fucking well!"

"Yeah, I thought that might slow you down a little," Sonny admitted.

Vinnie got up from the bench. "Hey, if you don't want me here, maybe I should leave." And he started for the door.

"Wait a minute." Sonny snapped his fingers, held out his hand. "Hand it over."

"Hand what over?" Vinnie turned around, looking perplexed.

"The watch, whaddaya think?" Sonny snapped his fingers again. "C'm'on, aren't you supposed to leave the jewelry when you make your big, dramatic exit? Isn't that how this game is played? So hand over the watch."

Vinnie had finally tweaked, anyway; he was looking like he was ready to slug Sonny.

"And the lighter." Sonny stuck his hand in Vinnie's jacket pocket and took out the lighter, tossed it in the air, caught it. Vinnie was just staring at him.

"C'm'on, c'm'on, you know the drill: you walk out with what you came with. Good deal you bought that suit yourself, you won't have to try to explain to the locals why you were running around in your skivvies."

"I cannot believe that after all these years, you choose **now** to be pissed off at me for—for having played you!" Vinnie faltered a little on the last words.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me something. What would'a happened if I hadn't've come after you that day? How would you have explained that to **Frank**?"

Vinnie pushed him. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"No, c'm'on, I wanna know. What would have happened if you'd really walked out—and I didn't come after you?"

"I'd'a had a lot of explaining to do."

"But you knew that wasn't gonna happen, didn't you?"

Vinnie shrugged, not meeting Sonny's eyes. "Well, I was pretty sure of it, yeah."

"Because you knew what a fucking idiot I was."

Now Vinnie did look at him. "Sonny, I thought a lot of things about you, but I never thought you were stupid. Frank was having a nervous breakdown, positive you were gonna figure it out any minute, but I knew you wouldn't because I knew you. It's not about smart, it's about your heart. When you love somebody, you trust 'em whether you should or not. I wouldn't call that a failing, but it made you—well, ill-suited for the business you were in."

"What're you, a shrink now?"

"No, I— Look, you asked me a question, how 'bout you let me answer it?"

"Fine, go ahead."

For no reason Sonny could see, Vinnie sighed like he was exasperated. He sat back down, and stared at Sonny until Sonny sat down, too. "I shouldn't even have to explain this to you, you were there, you knew what was going on."

"I **thought** I did—"

"Will you shut up? I'm not talking about me being a cop, I'm talking about Royce. He saw you'n me as a united front, and one way to get to you was to get rid'a me."

"You're not telling me anything I don't know," Sonny said impatiently. He had the disquieting feeling he was being scammed again.

"Of course I'm not telling you anything you don't know! I just said you knew all this! Do you want me to go on or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's hear it."

"Sid scared the crap outta me, and I knew that if I didn't have your unqualified support, he'd use any excuse to get rid of me any way he could, since he'n Patrice saw that as making you more vulnerable. You're right, me walking out like that was a big show, but I put it on for Sid's benefit, not for yours—an' I'd'a done the same thing if I really had been working for you, and for the same reason. If you hadn't come after me, maybe I shouldn't'a been there, maybe it was too dangerous. I don't know what I would'a told Frank, but considering the stuff that happened later—"

"What stuff?" Sonny asked.

"For one thing, he had Frank kidnapped and tortured, supposedly trying to get information out of him, but I don't think they were really looking for anything but getting at you, since the guy doing the torturing fucking **told** Frank he was working for you, which was a pretty good tip-off he wasn't."

"What?" Sonny had no idea what he was talking about.

"You remember the undercover local, Karen Leland?"

"Malloy, wasn't it? The broad from the ballet."

"Yeah, her. Well, she was sleeping with Sid. Sid was the information leak."

"Jesus. I never felt sorry for a cop before." And he honestly did. Having to go to bed with Sid Royce was something nobody deserved.

"And Richard what's-his-name, that reporter Sid had dusted, I knew he was the one who did it." Vinnie gave a half laugh. "I told Frank that— Frank'n me had more fights about things you hadn't done— I kept getting you out of messes I knew you weren't responsible for, stuff Sid was setting you up for. You don't think Sererra wouldn't'a loved to thrown you in jail for that pizza bombing, just because he **could have,** and so what that you hadn't done it? But Frank talked him down, and he did it because I told him I'd testify in your defense as a federal agent—which, by the way, did **not** make him happy."

"Yeah, but that's your whole truth, justice, and the American way gig. It didn't have anything to do with me."

"If you want to look at it that way, my **being there** didn't have anything to do with you, it was my job. But this, me here right now, this has to do with you. Why do you think you're the person I kept talking to, even though everyone kept telling me you were dead, even though I **knew** you were dead? I mean, I know a lot of dead people! My brother, for example; my father. So why you?"

"You felt guilty," Sonny said without much punch.

"Sonny. I'm here. I tracked you down twice." Vinnie sighed. "What do you want from me? You want me to give you back my watch and leave or what?"

Sonny smiled, patted his cheek. "You eaten yet?"

"No." Vinnie answered like maybe it was a trick question.

"Great! I found a great little place—" Sonny had no idea why Vinnie started laughing. He had the weirdest sense of humor sometimes. But since his explanations never made much sense, Sonny didn't bother asking for one. "Let's go out to dinner. You can tell me all about where you got that suit."

Vinnie stood up. "What's to tell? I bought it in New York."

Now Sonny was the one to laugh. "You bought yourself a suit? Fuck, and I had to be on the other side of the country, I didn't get to see it! You're gonna have to show me what that looks like, 'cause, honest, man, I can't picture it, you buying a suit."

Vinnie rolled his eyes. "You really think you're funny, don't you?"

Sonny knew a rhetorical question when he heard one. "Come on, I'll buy you dinner."

Sonny had found this restaurant practically hidden down a flight of steps behind a gate on Via Manin. It was quieter than the other restaurants he’d been to in Palermo, with private rooms. Since he wasn't the one who talked to himself, privacy hadn't mattered to Sonny when he'd been here before. But he didn't want to spend the whole evening watching his words, so this was the perfect place.

Sonny had always thought the whole idea of a three hour lunch—or a five hour dinner—was insane, and when he'd been forced to, he'd sat through them with a sense of edgy boredom. But things were always different with Vinnie; even boring stuff was fun, and the menu at this place was unsurpassed. Sonny ordered a careful selection of things he knew Vinnie would like, and things he was pretty sure Vinnie had never had. When he was finished, Vinnie smiled at the waiter and ordered a pepperoni pizza. The waiter looked confused, and Sonny told him to ignore Vinnie, he was crazy, and to bring the wine.

"I can order my own dinner, you know," Vinnie said, but he didn't sound like he wanted to make a big thing out of it.

"You can sit at your own table, too, and pay your own check," Sonny agreed, and Vinnie laughed.

"I can't believe you ordered octopus," Vinnie said.

"You like octopus," Sonny said. That was why he had ordered it. He was sticking to the shrimp and fruit salad, though Vinnie was eating plenty of that, too.

"Yeah, and you can't stand it."

"That's why I'm not eating it." There was one last shrimp, and Vinnie took it.

"What else?" Sonny asked, watching him lick the yogurt and poppy-seed dressing off his fingers.

"What else what?"

"Well, I know you didn't really kill Hawthorne." Sonny took a piece of the calamari. It was still like chewing on rubber, but he swallowed it. "So, what?"

"Yeah," Vinnie agreed, "you gave me too much time, I got word to Frank, and Hawthorne was wearing a vest."

"Should'a had you shoot him in the head," Sonny muttered. "What else?"

Before, Vinnie always tried to pretend he didn't know what Sonny meant when Sonny asked about his lies. Now, unflinching, he said, "The eyewitness who picked out the wrong guys in the line-up was an OCB plant. I didn't know it, though; Frank set it up and didn't tell me—"

The waiter came back and cleared their plates, replaced them with their pasta course. When he was gone, Vinnie went on, "I didn't call around hotels, looking for Winfield, I found a credit card receipt when Tony'n' me were unloading his body. How come you get the shrimp?"

Sonny looked up from his plate. "What, you don't like asparagus?"

Vinnie took Sonny's plate and switched it with his own. "Tony tried to kill me." He said it so conversationally, it took Sonny a minute to react.

"Greco? When?" Sonny didn't know why that was what he wanted to know. Why hadn't he known about this before?

"Just before he disappeared. That's **why** he disappeared, my guys grabbed him, put him in protective custody. I don't think he ever told us anything useful, though."

Sonny had to grin at that. When had it become "us" again, when had they gone back to being Vinnie's guys again? How many times had he told Sonny to quit calling the cops, the feds, "his guys"? Well, the answer was, any time the subject came up.

Vinnie stabbed another piece of asparagus, dragged it through the cheese. If he didn't stop it, Sonny was going to be left with a little cheese and rice. Sonny reached over and took a few shrimp, and a cherry tomato.

"How did your guys get to him, anyway?" Vinnie asked. He was looking like he might take the tomato back, if Sonny gave him half a chance.

Sonny didn't. He popped the tomato into his mouth. "Guy named Donny Ziperman, you know him?"

"Huh-uh." Vinnie took another piece of asparagus. Sonny considered telling him if he wanted what was on his plate, he shouldn't have switched them.

"He had access to the Witness Protection files, and he had a real weakness for pros. Redheads, mostly. I knew a lot of redheads back then. He was a very cooperative guy. What else?"

"I dunno. You wanna hear the dumbest thing I ever did?" Vinnie was back to eating his own food, probably because all of Sonny's asparagus was gone.

"Sure, why not?" Sonny went after some more of Vinnie's shrimp and bowties.

"I knew Tony San Martano wasn't Lorenzo when I shot him." That was as far as he got, then the waiter came with the main course. Sonny figured it would be harder to steal filet mignon, so he motioned the swordfish rolls to Vinnie's place and kept the filet for himself. This did not escape Vinnie's notice, though he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he said, "Sid was coming after me so hard, I knew I had to have you one thousand percent on my side, so I figured if I handed myself over for the slaughter, it'd impress you. It was pure, fucking hubris." He cut a swordfish roll in half, put half in his mouth, and chewed. "The Immigration guy would give you the news, I'd do my thing, you'd be impressed, I'd be safe. Only you didn't see the Immigration guy, and we were all scared you were gonna pop me before he showed up."

"She," Sonny said. "The Immigration guy was a broad."

"Oh, yeah, she was." Vinnie stuck the other half of the swordfish roll in his mouth. "I was talking to my uncle Mike, he's trying to figure some way to get me out, and you're offering to take me to visit my imaginary Aunt Cecelia. What a mess."

"And I was trying to think of a way to get you to take off."

It felt like they were two spies from opposite sides, just after the end of the cold war, comparing scars and stories, nothing left to fight over. It felt like he was meeting Vinnie for the first time.

"Now, would you answer a question for me?" Vinnie asked.

"What?" Sonny had just cut himself off a piece of filet; Vinnie took Sonny's fork and ate it. Instead of fighting him for it, Sonny picked up a swordfish roll, tore it in half, and stuck half in his mouth.

"Why now? Why after all this time, after all the times I've tried to tell you, do you want to hear about this stuff? And quit hogging the mushrooms, you don't even like mushrooms."

Sonny picked up his plate, took his fork back from Vinnie, and scraped the sautéed mushrooms onto Vinnie's plate. "So, come on, where'd you really get the suit?" Sonny wasn't sure if he was going to answer Vinnie's question or not, but he could see his unresponsive response pissed Vinnie off.

"Where'd I—? I got it in Manhattan! I was wearing it when I walked in the front door of the apartment! If you'd have taken your eyes off your newspaper, you might've noticed."

"I wasn't there when you got back," Sonny said mildly. He put the rest of the swordfish roll in his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah. And you ignored me for a whole week."

"Were you wearing this suit the whole week?" Sonny asked. He ran his fingers up and down the lapel slowly. "I would have noticed that."

Vinnie smacked his hand. "Are you going to answer me or what?"

"What was the question?" Sonny asked. There were more cherry tomatoes on Vinnie's plate; Sonny snagged a couple of them.

"If we weren't in a public place, I'd sock you," Vinnie muttered.

"You want your tomatoes back?" Sonny asked, deliberately misunderstanding him, but before Vinnie could snap at him, Sonny let him off the hook. "I don't care about that stuff in the past. I just want to know what you and McPike talked about, and I want to know where you got the suit."

"Those two things have got nothing to do with each other," Vinnie said, and then, "Do you think Frank bought me this suit? You're fucking nuts!"

"What's nuts about that?" Sonny asked.

"Well, for one thing, Frank knows I can dress myself. And for another—" He stopped, fork halfway to his mouth, and squinted at Sonny. "What do you care what Frank and me were talking about? We weren't talking about **you.** "

"Uh-huh," Sonny agreed, as though he believed this.

"Sonny! Frank an' me were not talking about you! I know it's hard to believe, but conversations go on all over the world that aren't about you! I know that's fucking amazing—some days I can't believe it myself—but it's true. You're nuts, you know that, right?"

Sonny refused to let himself laugh, though he felt like it. He'd never seen Vinnie like this— Well, yes he had. This was the Vinnie he'd first met, who'd pick a fight, who didn't back down. Sonny had thought he was just an act, but this was no act, this was real, the real Vinnie. Some of the real Vinnie, anyway. "Why am I nuts just because I want to know what people are saying about me behind my back?"

"Nobody was saying anything! Nobody was talking about you! Believe me, when I was talking to Frank, I had better things to talk about than you—we had three years together. You can't just wave bye and walk out on your life."

"Oh, yeah? Do you really want to have that conversation again?" Sonny reached for another swordfish roll, and again Vinnie smacked his hand.

"Come on, Sonny, if you'd had an opportunity to say goodbye, how long would it have taken?" Sonny had to give him that one. "There were things I needed to say. And I'm grateful to you for giving me the opportunity to say them. But they didn't have anything to do with you. And quit stealing stuff off my plate."

Sonny pushed his plate across to Vinnie's side of the table. "Here! Take it all! But when you're finished, can maybe I lick the plates?"

Vinnie laughed. It was still a revelation, to see Vinnie really laughing, full out, like nothing was hurting him. He cut what was left of the filet in two and put half on his own plate, put half of the remaining swordfish rolls on Sonny's plate, and gave it back. Then he reached over and took one of Sonny's rolls.

Sonny laughed. "You want dessert?"

"Yeah, of course."

Vinnie jerked his arm away from Sonny, who had been feeling the sleeve of his jacket. "You know, I used to think that your interest in what I was wearing was about me looking appropriate when we went out, so I wouldn't embarrass you in front'a people. And I could understand that, I got no problem with that. But now I'm beginning to think you got some kind'a fetish—"

"What do you mean, fetish?" Sonny demanded.

"I mean, you've spent the whole evening fondling my jacket! I keep thinking maybe I should let the two of you be alone together!"

"It's nice material," Sonny said, thinking that sounded kind of lame. But what was wrong with appreciating Vinnie's new suit? It was a deep shade of blue, went great with his eyes, made him look . . . .

"And all the questions!" Vinnie went on complaining. He reached over and scraped the last of Sonny's semifreddo off his plate. He'd already eaten his own mousse. Well, he'd eaten what Sonny hadn't. "You didn't wanna that, right?" he asked, and stuck it in his mouth.

"What questions? I just asked where you got your suit."

"Yeah, you just asked me. You just asked me half a dozen times, and every time I told you—every single one of those times! So don't say it like it was a casual thing. You got a thing for my suit."

"I just want to know who bought it," Sonny said. This new Vinnie was a little whacko. Interesting, really interesting, and fun, but whacko.

Vinnie laughed. "I keep telling you, I bought it. I bought myself a nice dinner, a shave and a haircut, then I went and bought some new clothes—but I swear I was thinking of you the whole time I was being fitted."

_There he goes again._ "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Just forget the suit, will you? And call the waiter back in, I'd like some coffee."

Sonny got the waiter back, ordered the coffee, and another pistachio and cinnamon semifreddo for Vinnie, who laughed, but he ate it. Well, most of it.

"You wanna know why I bought the suit?" Vinnie asked. He was swirling his brandy around in his glass like he actually knew what the hell he was doing. Without waiting for an answer, he said, "I had to buy a suit, I was going to see Rudy."

Sonny nearly choked on his brandy. "What?"

"I stopped by to see Rudy." Vinnie was grinning at him. That suit really did make him look—

"You've been hiding from him all this time and now you decide all you really needed was a new suit and, hey, no problem, think I'll stop by for a drink?" Vinnie made no sense to him sometimes. "Fuck, I'd'a bought you a suit, if I'd thought you'd worn it!"

"You did buy me suits, and you insisted I wear them!" And he laughed. Then he added, "I wanted to get everything settled before I came home," in that annoying, patient way, like Sonny couldn't possibly understand. Which, he didn't, but not because he was stupid, but because Vinnie just wasn't making sense. "I'd seen Frank. So I saw Rudy. Now there's nobody else I need to see."

Well, maybe that made sense. Vinnie always was worrying about loose ends, and things you couldn't change without a time machine. So maybe seeing his stepfather made sense, fixed things for him. But why Aiuppo had let him go again, Sonny couldn't figure that. It was one fucking weird relationship they had. He was glad to be out of the middle of it, that Vinnie was handling it himself.

Sonny knew he was drunk.

He had to be, because he couldn't keep his hands off Vinnie in the elevator, and why else wouldn't he be able to keep his hands off Vinnie? Well, the suit really was nice; the fabric was very soft. Sonny was about to ask where he'd got it when Vinnie leaned over and kissed him.

That seemed weird, and not for the usual hey, what're you doing? reasons. It was weird because while Vinnie had sucked his dick lots of times, he'd never kissed Sonny before. Kissed back, sure, but not just kissed him with no—with no provocation.

Sonny really liked this new Vinnie. You could have a decent argument with him without him falling apart, and he did things he wasn't supposed to do—and he did them very well.

Vinnie stopped kissing him, and again Sonny was going to ask about his suit, only he didn't care that much about it because Vinnie had a hold of his tie and was using it to pull him down the hall to their room, and once they were inside, he was taking Sonny's suit off him.

After that, things got kind of out of hand, but not in a bad way. Eventually they got all their clothes off, and Sonny was going to turn out the light, but Vinnie wanted it on, and what the hell, it was important to Vinnie. Then they were on the bed, on top of the covers, only Vinnie seemed to think **that** was important, too, he wanted to get under the covers, which Sonny didn't understand. It wasn't like either one of them was likely to get cold. But Sonny humored him, and they got under the covers, and eventually Vinnie stopped complaining, or talking at all.

Things went a little further than Sonny had expected.

Well, more like a lot further, since he hadn't really been expecting anything. Vinnie didn't try to stop him—at least, not that Sonny could recall, because one thing you could say about this new, improved Vinnie: he was good at getting his point across. Sonny got the feeling he couldn't be pushed or prodded or coaxed into doing anything he didn't want to, and he definitely couldn’t be forced. There was something about having complete access to Vinnie's big body that made Sonny feel like his head was filled with helium. Even without the suit on, Sonny couldn't stop touching him, and Vinnie seemed to like that—Vinnie seemed to like everything he did, even when after several hours of kissing and groping, Sonny stuck his finger inside him. Vinnie didn't even seem surprised, which might have made Sonny wonder just what Vinnie thought, if Sonny's been capable of having a coherent thought like that.

"We’re gonna need something," Vinnie said.

"What?" Sonny asked, and Vinnie laughed for no reason Sonny could see.

"Just hold on a minute." Vinnie leaned over the side of the bed, found his jacket on the floor, and got a tube of something, which he put in Sonny's hand. "Use that."

It was—it turned out to be a tube of strawberry-flavored lube. Sonny thought about asking Vinnie if he'd ever been a Boy Scout because he certainly was prepared. And that made him wonder if Vinnie had been expecting this, but how could he possibly have been expecting it? Sonny hadn't been planning on doing it, so how could Vinnie have expected him to do it?

"You try it without using any of that, and I'm gonna beat the crap outta you," Vinnie said. He lay on his stomach, Sonny fondling him, running his hands up and down the backs of Vinnie's thighs, up to—caressing his ass, feeling his—just feeling his ass, and slipping his fingers in, almost in, almost inside, almost— Slipping them out, stroking Vinnie's balls, then going back to—

Until Vinnie snapped, "Will you for God's sake stop that and get on with it?!" Then he put his face back in the pillow and said something that sounded like, "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?" which didn't make any sense at all, if that's what he said, and then he started laughing. He had the most fucking bizarre sense of humor.

But it felt so good, touching him. It was weird to enjoy wasting time like this. Sonny had never wanted to spend hours in bed with a woman, but with Vinnie, he felt like he could spend all night and all the next day never getting any further than just feeling his skin. He didn't know why that was. Women's bodies were nicer, softer, prettier. God knew most women were more pleasant and easier to get along with than Vinnie was. About the most you could say for Vinnie's body was, there was more of it. That shouldn't make it more appealing at all.

He got a pillow shoved under Vinnie's hips, which put him at a good angle, but it was so—it was just—it was wrong. Sonny knelt there between Vinnie's legs, looking at him and trying to figure out what was wrong, but—it just— “This isn’t gonna work,” Sonny said. And he figured out what was wrong: he needed to see Vinnie’s face; he needed it really bad.

“What are you talking about? It’s not that complicated! I mean, Sonny, c’m’on—insert tab A into slot B, I’m sure you can handle it.”

“Hey! That’s not what I’m talking about!” He leaned over, kissed Vinnie's neck.

"Then what's the problem?”

“Nothing! I just—” Caressing Vinnie’s face, his throat. “I wanna see your face.”

“You are insane. Have I mentioned that? Well, get off me, I can’t turn over with you lying on top of me.”

Sonny got off him, stood next to the bed while Vinnie turned over and got himself situated. He was complaining the whole time, but he was so fucking beautiful, Sonny didn't care.

“This way is a lot more complicated,” Vinnie said. He was moving the pillow, trying to get comfortable.

“How would you know?” Sonny asked. There were times when Vinnie said things that made Sonny wonder just what he had been doing all that time they weren't together.

“I’m good at logic problems! Jeez, I know you’re not just out of the convent; you gonna try to tell me you’ve never done it this way with a woman? It’s a great form of birth control.”

Yeah, that was true. But Vinnie was right; it was awkward. Vinnie was uncomfortable, it made his back hurt, and Sonny didn't seem to be able to get good purchase, and the pillows didn't help, and the lube—why was Vinnie carrying around a tube of some weird strawberry-scented lube in his pocket anyway?—it got everywhere, and Vinnie started laughing and couldn't stop, but he didn't sound hysterical, it was—it was like it used to be when things were going good, when Sonny would realize that Vinnie was the first real friend he'd ever had, that kind of laughing, and Sonny was laughing, too, and frustrated, and scared.

He'd never felt this combination of uncontrollable wanting and paralyzing fear, the wanting creating the fear, the fear keeping him from getting what he wanted so bad: Vinnie. His Vinnie was right there, spread out in the palm of his hand, and Sonny couldn't seem to—it was like he was a mirage in the desert. Vinnie muttered something insulting about virgins, which pissed Sonny off because who the fuck was he calling a virgin anyway? They finally got the pillows right, finally, and Vinnie was comfortable, and Sonny was inside him, and Vinnie seemed to like it—he said something about Sonny being a fast learner, which made Sonny want to smack him, but it didn't seem to be the right time.

If they had been drunk to start with, they weren't anymore; stone cold sober, Vinnie with his legs wrapped around Sonny, his eyes closed, mostly closed—he'd open them to look at Sonny, close them again like it felt too good not to just bask. Sonny stroked his face, kissed him—it wasn't that easy, the height thing worked against them— But Sonny liked the way Vinnie shuddered when he finally pushed into him, shuddered, and cried out, and started saying his name, and then, oh, God, and then his name again.

It wasn't that fucking Vinnie felt better, it was just that Sonny wanted it to go on forever, he just wanted to stay inside him, touching him like nobody ever had before, wanted Vinnie's legs wrapped around him, wanted—he didn't even know what he wanted, he wanted everything there was, and more, if Vinnie had it, every minute, forever. It wasn't that he was better, it was that he was Vinnie.

It was very weird.

It didn't take long for Vinnie to start gasping, and that ambiguous begging: _Oh, God, please, please Sonny, God, please—_ Sonny had heard him do that plenty, had even helped him do it, when Vinnie would let him, and he wrapped his hand around Vinnie's dick, which had gotten plenty of the lube on it, which was good, made for a better hand job, only Vinnie's dick wasn't hard, which was weird, and Sonny was going to ask what was wrong only Vinnie wasn't talking anymore, and for that matter neither was Sonny. All hell was going to break loose any second.

They managed to kiss twice, then Sonny was coming, feeling like he was committing some sin no one had ever told him about, and getting away with it clean, and the way Vinnie was yelling either the earth was moving or he was dying, or maybe both. At that moment, Sonny didn't care.

The blankets and pillows were on the floor, and he and Vinnie were all tangled together—Vinnie had pushed Sonny off him and now he was sprawled on top of Sonny, half-smothering him, and Sonny was lying on the tube of strawberry lube, which had squirted all out underneath him, and one of his legs was off the bed. Sonny got Vinnie's elbow out of his stomach and fell asleep.

When Sonny woke up, he could hear the shower running, and Vinnie doing something that might have been singing, so he didn't ask if everything was all right with him. He was pretty sure this new Vinnie would let him know if there was anything wrong, anyway. Sonny called room service and ordered breakfast, and when Vinnie got out of the shower, he got in. The food was there when he got out, and Vinnie was a little bit dressed—he had his shorts on, the pearl gray silk ones he liked so much, and a bathrobe that wasn't tied.

After breakfast, Vinnie walked around the room, picking up their discarded clothes. "Does this hotel got a laundry?"

"Yeah, just call housekeeping. You know enough Italian to talk to 'em?"

"I think I can manage," Vinnie said.

"Are you getting dressed?" Sonny asked

"Yeah, sure. You in some kind of hurry to go out?"

"Yeah, no," Sonny said, distracted. Vinnie was very distracting.

"Is that a yes or a no?" Vinnie took off his robe and hung it up. He was very distracting anyway, but right now he was—very distracting.

"Huh?"

Vinnie came over to him, patted his cheek as though trying to wake him up. "Is there any blood in your brain at all?" But he didn't seem to want an answer any too bad, since the next thing he did was kiss Sonny.

Sonny waited until he'd gone into the bathroom before saying, "Too bad you sent your nice suit to the laundry, you could wear—"

Vinnie came back out, like the Tasmanian Devil. "Jesus-fucking-Christ!" He gave Sonny a push. "Sonny, you are out of your mind, you know that? You wanna know who bought the suit?"

"I thought you did," Sonny said mildly, wondering what Vinnie was so worked up about. Whatever it was, Sonny liked the effect.

"No, you know who bought it? You did! I charged it! In Manhattan, right after I talked to Frank! I used your credit card." He turned and headed back to the bathroom, throwing over his shoulder, "You really need to pay more attention when those statements come in the mail."

Once Vinnie was finally dressed, they went sight-seeing, if you could call it that. Sonny loved his heritage, the customs comforted him, and sometimes he really enjoyed them, but he wasn't much interested in looking at old buildings just because people he was descended from might have helped build them, or been in them, or maybe walked past them once upon a time. They did go to the Museo delle Marionette, which was fun, and they had a long lunch in a cool, dark restaurant. Then Vinnie insisted that he had to see the Convento dei Cappuccini's catacombs. Looking at walls lined with dead people wasn't Sonny's idea of a good time, but Vinnie enjoyed it.

For dinner they picked up a pizza—which was like nothing either of them had ever had before—and took it, and a nice bottle of red wine, back to enjoy on their balcony.

"You know, these guys ought'a sue every other place in the world," Vinnie said, his mouth full. "Every other place that calls what it makes pizza, these guys ought'a sue, make 'em call it something else. Because if this is pizza, the stuff I've had before is—something else altogether."

Sonny started to agree with this, but another thought interrupted him. "You know, the statement with your suit on it hasn't come in yet, so I haven't seen it."

"Suits," Vinnie said, sounding rather smug.

"Suits?" Sonny asked.

"Yeah, I bought two suits, three new shirts, and a bunch'a socks and underwear."

Vinnie buying himself good clothes? Since when did he do that? "OK, who are you and what have you done with Vinnie Terranova?"

Vinnie laughed.

"No, seriously."

Vinnie took another slice. "Pods in the basement, wha'd you think?"

"Yeah, yeah. C'm'on, what's the real answer?" Sonny asked.

"I feel better," Vinnie said seriously. "Sometimes it works the other way around."

"What?" Sonny poured them each some more wine.

"You know, you get cleaned up, you look better, it makes you feel better?"

"Yeah," Sonny agreed.

"Well, sometimes it works the other way around: you gotta feel better before you can make yourself get cleaned up and look better. You want that last piece?" Vinnie asked, picking it up and starting to take a bite.

Sonny started to wave his hand in the negative, then changed his mine. "Yeah, sure," he said, and took it out of Vinnie's hand.

"Hey!" Vinnie hadn't been expecting that answer, and he tried to take it back, but Sonny held it out of reach.

"You offered, and besides you had seven pieces, so not only is this one mine, you owe me one, even if it does got your teeth marks on it."

"I owe you one?" Vinnie asked, a challenge in his voice. "What're you gonna do, break my arm if I don't pay you back?" Then he laughed. "I don't know what you're complaining about teeth marks for. You got my teeth marks on you, too."

Sonny ignored that part. "Mm, no, you wouldn't be much use with a broken arm. Anyhow, I don't do that kind'a work myself, and I think I'd have a hard time talking you into breaking your own arm for me."

Vinnie started laughing. "Yeah, what's the vig on a slice of pizza, anyway? You want me to run out and buy you another slice?"

"Nah, forget it, I'll let it go this time." Sonny took a bite of his pizza.

"You got no idea how relieved I am." Vinnie was still laughing.


End file.
